Did You Have Other Plans?
by AndyObjectified
Summary: Have you ever desired someone against your own will? Andrea has. This is a very short one-shot, drabble, that will likely develop into a LOT more. I think of this work as a skeleton for a much more detailed piece. For now, it's PWP because I can't think of any material besides sex scenes. Lemons, adult language, and sexual content. This is my very first fanfic endeavor.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Sweat pools in the small of her back. Lying on her stomach, she clutches the mattress desperately and grinds her pelvis against it. He pushes aside her drenched hair, and then he plants his tongue on the nape of her neck, letting his teeth sink ever so lightly into her sweltering flesh. His tongue then begins to travel languidly down the length of her spine. He pauses intermittently on his way down, letting his teeth catch on her salty skin with the slightest of pressure.

"Oh, god," Andrea whimpered. "Oh, god. Oh, god. Oh, god."

He straddled her closed legs, his skin markedly cooler than hers. Although he was still wearing his boxer briefs, she could feel the throbbing stiffness of what she desperately needed to be inside her. His tongue lingered at the small of her back, as if he were drinking in the sweat he himself had drawn to the surface of her skin.

"Oh, god…"

She pressed her abdomen further into the mattress, instinctively lifting up her ass. Taking her body's cue, he continued his tongue's course. Anticipation rising like steam from her pores, she braced for it.

_Almost there…_

A tortured cry escapes her just as his tongue reaches the crevice where her legs meet. He grabs her thighs and parts them. His tongue descends.

_I'm going to…_

"Oh my god, oh my god, OH MY —"

Andrea's eye lids spring open. Her wild stare is fixed on the empty bunk bed above her as her body shudders with a few more contractions of ecstasy. Moisture has already soaked through her panties, making an already-cold stain on the mattress.

_A wet dream?_

"A wet fucking dream?" she asked aloud, incredulous and confused. She hoped she hadn't been vocalizing whatever she had moaned and screamed in her dream.

Confused because she couldn't remember the last time she had had an orgasm. With the ongoing crisis she and her group had been facing—the end of the fucking world, basically—sex had been far from her mind. A sliver of a memory and a foregone luxury was all it had been to her, until now.

Confused because it was all so vivid, so realistic. She still felt the wet warmth of his tongue gliding down her back and his erection pressing relentlessly into the backs of her thighs.

Confused because it was _him_. She had never, ever thought of him—or anyone else in their group—in a sexual way. How could she? Everything about this was wrong, on so many levels.

_Him? _Him?_ Why? Just…fucking…why?_

Disgusted with herself, Andrea rose from the creaky bed. She changed her panties, peeled off her white sweat-soaked camisole, and suited herself in her usual army surplus store attire.

Sitting back down on the bed for a moment, she leaned forward and placed her elbows on her knees. Sighing heavily, she dropped her head into her hands and then rubbed her eyes with her palms.

_This is going to be weird._

But she couldn't stay in her cell all day, avoiding him and everyone else. She slid the cell door open and headed toward the prison kitchen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_Motherfucking shit, he's in here. Why is he in here? He's never in here in the morning. Motherfucker._

Trudging into the kitchen, where a few of her cohorts were gathered for breakfast, Andrea held her head low, uncharacteristic of such a confident, powerful woman. Her chin was almost touching her neck as she attempted to avoid eye contact with everyone around her.

No one seemed to notice her or her unusual self-consciousness. She figured it was safe to assume that if she had indeed cried out loud during her dream, no one heard it. Besides, preoccupation was more common than not these days; people seemed so wrapped up in themselves and those dearest to them—and rightfully so.

Maybe she could go all day without attracting attention. She didn't want others to see any sign of vulnerability in her eyes, but she was aware that her eyes might very well betray her. She poured a meager serving of dry cereal into a metal bowl and added a dash of condensed milk. No matter how long she might have had to prepare herself to face the man about whom she had just had an orgasmic dream, it would have never been enough. She closed her eyes, held her breath for a moment, and then turned around.

_Keep your eyes on the table. Just walk to the table and sit down. Don't say anything to anyone, and don't draw attention to yourself._

She chose a seat opposite Rick and several seats down. He had disassembled his Colt Python and was inspecting it, his brow furrowed. He was in deep concentration, not once taking his eyes off his weapon.

As she pushed the cereal around her bowl with her spoon, she slowly raised her eyes and stole a glance at him. Like a gas stove touched with a stricken match, her cheeks flared hot from the bottom up. Quickly lowering her eyes again, she cursed herself and clinched her unoccupied fist in her lap.

_What the fuck are you doing? Get over it. It was nothing. Get your shit together. None of this is real._

"Did you sleep as terribly as I did?" Lori asked Andrea, standing by the dented stainless steel trough sink, wiping clean her own metal bowl.

"Huh? Uh, yeah, didn't sleep for shit," Andrea replied, shifting awkwardly in her chair. She found it difficult to look at Lori as well. After all, not thirty minutes ago, Lori's husband was making Andrea come in what was a twisted, unwelcome dream.

Rick began re-assembling his gun, now looking slightly less preoccupied as he glanced up a couple of times at nothing and no one in particular. His dark brown curly hair had given in to the recent rain and humidity, slick waves spilling down his forehead and into his steely eyes. He paused from his work occasionally to slick back his unruly hair with his calloused, interminably dirty hands. Long, nimble fingers deftly handled the last loose pieces of the gun as if of their own volition. He held his mouth open just enough to accentuate a rugged jawline. His—

_Holy shit, Andrea, you're checking him out. You're fucking checking out Rick fucking Grimes._

Sickened, Andrea slammed down her spoon with just enough force to get Rick's attention.

"Hey, Andrea. We need to go up to the tower today when Glenn's shift is over. We need to inventory the ammo we have up there. Also, I want to check out that rifle Glenn brought back from his last trip into town," Rick said indifferently, putting his cleaned and repaired gun back in its holster.

She blinked.

"Did you have other plans?" he asked.

"No, no. I, um, that's fine. Fine."

She rose from the table with her bowl and dumped her mostly uneaten cereal in the sink, leaving the dirty dishes there. Only after she did this did she remember that she should have asked anyone if they wanted the rest of her food. Wastefulness was what passed for immoral these days. She blamed her forgetfulness on her current dubious mental state and admonished herself inwardly.

"Just let me know when it's time," she said.

Rick had already moved on to a new task and had once again slipped under the spell of preoccupation, not acknowledging her or anyone else in the room.

She turned on her heel and walked back to her cell, and just in time—she couldn't have tolerated another moment in the presence of a man who had infiltrated her dreams in such a perverse way. True, it wasn't his fault, but all the same, her discomfort was likely to become obvious to him and the others.

In her cell, Andrea lay on the bed, staring at the underside of the bunk above her. She clasped her hands on her chest and waited. Rick would be coming to get her soon so that they could go to the tower. She wondered what to say to him—not about this situation, of course, but she had to keep her cool. How could she maintain her stoic, determined demeanor in front of him? Most importantly, how could she excise the dream from her mind altogether so that she could concentrate on keeping herself and her people alive?

_Stop fretting; you're only making this shit worse. Really, quit making a big fucking deal out of nothing. It was one stupid, meaningless dream. That's all. It happens to everyone. Maybe you need to get laid, yeah, but not with _that_ guy._

Andrea closed her eyes. She tried to focus on nothing, a sort of meditating. She eventually succumbed to a light, hazy sleep.

"Andrea, get up. We've gotta go now," Rick said, his voice reverberating off the cinder-block cell walls.

She jerked awake. "Wha—what? Oh, yeah, yeah, OK," she replied, seeing Rick leaning against the wall next to her bed with his arms crossed.

She took a moment to rub her eyes, and then she sat up and swung her legs around to the side of the bed, now facing him. As she gathered her bearings, she gradually began to remember her predicament. The erotic dream she had had earlier was piecing itself back together in her mind like a pornographic jigsaw puzzle.

Rick stared at her without a trace of emotion, waiting for her to get it together so that they could go take over for Glenn up in the tower. She wondered how long he had been standing there before he woke her up.

Haphazardly patting her hair back into a somewhat presentable condition, Andrea rose from the bed. Now facing him, she felt shame burning in her cheeks once again. As quickly as she could, she sidestepped him and exited her cell. With Rick following her, she heaved a sigh and looked down.

_You've got this. You've got this. It's nothing. It already happened and hopefully won't happen again. Just move the fuck on._

He caught up with her, and they kept in time as they walked toward the tower, nary a word spoken between them. And just like that, stasis was restored, Rick being none the wiser.


End file.
